


ALWAYS YOU

by misstrishaa



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-18 04:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misstrishaa/pseuds/misstrishaa
Summary: After seven years, Bellamy and sky crew return to Earth only to find that those in the bunker have resurfaced and started anew, while Clarke counts down her numbered days.





	1. 01 | CLARKE'S ALIVE

**ALWAYS YOU**

 

**ABOUT**

Clarke Griffin x Bellamy Blake

the 100

post season 4

season 5 alternate storyline

spoilers

 

**SYNOPSIS**

After seven years, Bellamy and sky crew return to Earth only to find that those in the bunker have resurfaced and started anew, while Clarke counts down her numbered days.

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

**01**

**CLARKE’S ALIVE**

 

 **“ —** **AGAIN** **?”**

Her voice trembled. There was panic etched into Madi’s features, as she struggled to fathom Abby’s news. Her stomach curled, worry surging through her veins at the thought of Clarke in agonizing pain. The same memory comes to mind when Clarke last hurled blood. The last time it happened, Clarke had vomited too much blood that Abby had put Clarke to sleep for four days and she had spent hours scrubbing the blood from their rug and sheets. She didn’t care, she’d do anything for Clarke. But Clarke going through that again — she shuddered at the thought. 

“It’s not as bad as last time,” Abby assured, cupping her face with one hand, “She’s alright. She’s resting now. How about you join the hunt? I hear they’re going further east today. A week’s trip.”

“But I can help clean up.”

“We’ll be alright. Your grandad’s on to it.” 

 Hesitantly, Madi agreed. “Okay.”

 “I knew you’d agree. I’ve packed your things for the hike and I’ve given them to Ethan. They should still be at briefing.”

 The young girl wrapped her arms around Abby’s waist. “I’ll see you, grandpa and Clarke soon.” 

Abby returned the gesture, encircling the young girl in her tight embrace before letting her go, watching as she disappeared from sight. When she was sure she’d gone, Abby backed into the hut. 

“You sent her to the hunt so she wouldn’t see how bad it is,” Said Marcus Kane. He was scrubbing blood off the wooden bedframe, careful not to rub too hard lest he wake up Clarke.

“Would you rather her see this?” Her reply was blunt, as she sunk onto the chair by the door.

“I would rather her know the truth. She’s a smart girl, Abby. She’ll no longer buy the lies we’ve been telling.”

 “I don’t want to see her hurt.”

Abby looked to the sleeping Clarke. Her hair frail and dry. Her skin pale, her cheeks hollowed. The grey that shadowed under her eyes. She’d lost weight — she’d lost strength. Much as Clarke insisted she was fine, Abby knew she was barely enduring the pain.

Kane kneeled in front of her, taking Abby’s hands and pressing tightly, “Clarke’s a fighter – she’s like you.”

“She’s a great deal stronger than me.”

“Perhaps. But I know Clarke will keep fighting but we have to accept when she no longer can. She’s been through a lot. We’ll have to let her go when she’s tired.”

 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Madi tracked the footprints, her bow and arrow at the ready. She’d gone deep into the forest, the furthest she’d been from camp. But over the years, she’d gotten better at hunting, and her instinct had told her to trek further. She shut her eyes tightly, willing her sense of hearing to take lead.

It was silent other than the faint breeze of the morning wind. And then, a sudden snap of a twig and Madi released her arrow in that direction. Her eyes shot open and she stared in absolute bewilderment at the man.

Her arrow landed in the tree behind him, just above his tousled brown hair – she’d _narrowly_ missed him. He raised his hands slowly, hesitantly, eyeing her bow as if she’d fire another arrow at him.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. We’re just – ”

 _She knew him. She knew this man._ Brown curly hair. Brown doe eyes. A perennial frown etched into his features. (Clarke’s personal joke). She’d heard of him. Octavia talked of him. He was the hero in several of Clarke’s stories. She’d seen him before. In the pictures Clarke drew. There was a drawing of him strung up on their hut. _She knew him._

 “ – we just landed. We won’t hurt you I promise. I’m – ”

_“Bellamy?”_

He froze. Bewildered and _confused._ He frowned before muttering, “How do you – ”

“Clarke knew you would come.”

Madi, from her distance, could see the confusion turn into something akin to hope. His frown softened as he choked out, “Clarke’s _alive_?”

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

“Wait, I’m confused. Hey hobbit, what’s your name again?”

John Murphy was in the middle of devouring fish – what type of fish it was, he couldn’t care less. He was just grateful to be eating anything other than Monty’s algae. Beside him, Emori had already finished her meal. Monty, Harper, Raven and Echo were quietly eating. They were seated at the camp fire, with Madi beside Bellamy who’d remained oddly quiet. Madi had led them back to the camp, with Nathan Miller, their assigned hunt leader, bewildered at the sight of them, instantly offering his old friends food and water.

“I’m Madi.”

“And Clarke’s alive? You’re sure?”

“Why would I lie?”

A huge smirk crossed Murphy’s lips, “And they call _me_ the cockroach.”

“I know,” Madi giggled, “Clarke told me all about you. How you were the most annoying asshole of the delinquents but eventually proved yourself a loyal friend, especially when you went back for Monty on the day of Praimfaya. She told me about all of you.”

Madi’s gaze fell on Emori, “You’re Emori. She told me you were cast out because of your deformity, forced to find a way to survive. But she admired that of you – that you were strong enough to live even after your clan cast you out.”

Madi looked to Harper, “You’re Harper. Clarke always said you were brave and really pretty and one of the twenty gunners. What she loved most about you though was that you were kind and remained kind even when you were surrounded by brutality and pain. She admired that about you.”

She looked to Monty, “She said you and Harper, owned two of the purest souls. She said you were goofy, and brave, smart and caring. And that you were the first caught by the mountain men. She told me how you and Jasper protected the delinquents under the mountain. Octavia told me that you and Jasper were her favourites.”

To Raven, Madi said, “Clarke told me you were the smartest person she’d ever met. And somewhat reckless, for putting yourself in danger by going to earth alone in that escape pod. And you built radios and bombs. And that the delinquents would have never survived without you.”

Madi looked to Echo, who hadn’t said a word to her at all. “Clarke didn’t know you enough. But she did tell me that you were a brilliant warrior and loyal to Azgeda.”

She stared around at the campfire, grinning to herself, pleased that she remembered everything Clarke had told her about them. And happy, that she was bringing them back to her. Her gaze finally landed on Bellamy – the person Clarke had described as her hope.

She imagined the look on Clarke’s face. And maybe, leading Bellamy back to her would restore that hope. Stars knew Clarke needed it, needed _him_. It was painful watching her radio Bellamy every day; it was even more excruciating watching her wait in hope for a reply but ultimately heart breaking when Clarke cried when she got none.

Bellamy was the hero in most of Clarke’s stories: the older brother whose love for his younger sister led him to the dropship, the arrogant leader who protected the delinquents, the fearless soldier who snuck into the mountain to save his friends and risking his own life in the process, the one who crossed an Azgedan army to save _her,_ the one who taught her how to use a gun, the one who she could _always_ trust to keep her safe. He was _always_ at the centre of Clarke’s stories.

And whenever she would finish telling his tale, Clarke would tuck Madi into bed and Madi would close her eyes, thinking: _the one you were afraid to admit you loved._

“How did she survive?”

Bellamy’s voice was low. He’d barely touched his food. And from the corner of Madi’s eyes, she could see Murphy eying the fish. Emori slapped his hand away when he went to reach for it.

“The Nightblood,” Madi answered, “I have it too. Clarke found me and raised me in Shallow Valley. After the sixth year, we finally managed to get the people from the bunker out. We’ve built a steady camp in shallow valley, waiting for the land around it to restore itself. Which is has, _slowly.”_

“How is she?”

The question hit her hard in the chest. It was a simple question, but came unexpected. _Too_ unexpected that it took her several moments before Bellamy said, “Madi?”

 She met his gaze. “She’s sick. _Really_ sick.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. 02 | I AM HERE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank everyone of you for your overwhelming support for a story I randomly came up with several days after season 5 ended. S5 left me so empty, but because of my heart break I decided to write this story (honestly, for my own sanity). I never expected it to get over 500 hits in a matter of a few hours (and yeah that may be small to some, but to me that freaking matters). 
> 
> Secondly, thank you so much for the lovely comments. Please do keep commenting, as it keeps me motivated. 
> 
> Thirdly, I just want to let you know that I am very new to A03, so I am still figuring some things out. Otherwise, to clarify, this story is a multi-chapter story. 
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for your time and hearts (kudos). Much love,
> 
> x Trish

**02**

**I AM HERE**

**OCTAVIA’S EBONY** black hair blended well with the night. She’d risen out of the pond water, relishing the cold against her skin. The weather was shifting, slowly turning colder as weeks passed. The cold wind and chill tingle of fresh water against her skin felt surreal, even after she’d been out of the bunker for a year.

“You know, you should probably get back to camp. Didn’t you say you had a council meeting?”

 Clarke’s voice broke through her reverie. Clarke had risen from her swim several minutes prior and was now seated atop the grass. Octavia scowled and slowly made her way back. Clarke threw a towel to her and Octavia immediately began drying her hair. She sat beside Clarke, who was content letting the night air dry her off.

 “ _We_ have a council meeting. Don’t forget you’re a council member too. And let the elders handle it,” Octavia said, “I need a break.”

 Clarke shrugged, “they seem to be doing well enough without us, so I doubt they need us. We’ve done our part. And besides, I’d rather spend my last days actually living.”

“Clarke you’re _not_ dying.”

They’d had this conversation many times prior. Even when Octavia hadn’t fully forgiven Clarke, she knew well that the _princess_ always did what she had to do. _Still,_ it took several months for her to even look her in the eye whenever they conversed and eventually forgiving the girl for what she’d done. She’d never thought Clarke important to her, but maybe six years of thinking Clarke was dead led her to realise that she was the closest thing she had to family.

Maybe she came to fully forgive Clarke when she’d heard of what she sacrificed for sky crew and when she realised she was truly sick while watching her struggle with whatever illness it was. After everything they’d been through, and of all people, Clarke never deserved the pain. But pain was all she got. 

“We’ve had this discussion before,” Clarke murmured, “I’m not getting any better, Octavia.”

“Abby will find a way.”

“There’s no point in hoping for something hopeless. This _thing_ inside me, whatever it is, it may not manifest everyday but it’s there and it is _slowly_ killing me,” Clarke met Octavia’s gaze, “and I don’t want to be pitied. Because if anything, at least I could say I didn’t die by war, or by a bullet to my chest, or a knife across my neck, or by anything brutal resembling everything we’ve been through since we landed on earth – ”

“ _Clarke – ”_

“ – At least I can say, that I died _peacefully._ It is painful and slow, but I’d rather die like this than by war.”

 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Clarke insisted on staying a little longer at the pond. Octavia claimed she needed to head back, since she was due to be up at dawn break for troop training. It was a ten-minute walk from the meadow, where the pond was hidden, to Camp Eden. Once Octavia reached the outskirts of camp, she could see smoke rising above a huge bonfire. Immediately, a sense of dread coursed through her veins and she bolted towards the commotion.

She found Indra by the camp gates, sharpening several of her arrows, looking, as usual, perennially annoyed by everything and everyone with her perpetual scowl plastered on her face 

“Better late than never,” The woman looked half-relieved and half-disappointed to see her, “The elders were expecting you and Clarke at the meeting. Especially _you._ Have you forgotten that you are _Skaireina?_ And where is Clarke?”

“She wanted to stay in the meadow.”

Octavia answered as she looked past Indra to the crowd surrounding the bonfire. Confusion settled into her features, as she observed person to person. Some were playing instruments – several lutes and wind instruments. Some were drinking _moonshine_. Some were singing. Some dancing.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Octavia questioned, “I thought something bad was happening. I heard screaming.”

“More like horrendous incessant singing. Elder Kane called for a celebration.”

“ _Why?”_

Celebrations, as the elders have declared, are events that concerned the entire camp: _Rising Day,_ the official name of the day they were rescued from the bunker and weddings, of which had only happened once – Kane and Abby’s.

“Because your brother has risen from the _dead_.”  

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Bellamy was finding it unbelievable that Camp Eden had become a haven for everyone. Six years underground had them so close that there was no defining trait between any of the clans that he vaguely remembered. Except maybe for the language, other than that they seemed like a unified people.

People he didn’t know were greeting him, even his friends. Some, the older folk, even referred to him as _Belomi, bro gon ai Skaireina._

“Bellamy, brother of my Sky Queen,” Madi, who never left his side gladly translated, “Octavia is our leader now – well, _sort of_. She and Clarke are more like symbols of the council. Like I told you, Octavia became their symbol of hope in the bunker. She fought for _all_ of them. She mediated between the clans, rendered peace between them and unified them. They call her Sky Queen not because she was of the sky people but because she made them hope to see the sky again.”

“Sounds like my sister.”

Madi grinned, “I should find her. Wait, here.”

Before he could protest, Madi ran off. Emori and Murphy joined him by the bonfire, clearly enjoying the meat and fresh fruit that the camp’s people had prepared.

“Belomi.”

An older woman joined them suddenly, laying in front of him an olive-green tunic with several patches sewn in. She seemed so feeble in front of him, that it looked like it took all her strength just to get to where he was sitting at the centre of the partying crowd.

“Belomi – niron kon ai Lasheda,” He couldn’t decipher what she was saying, except for ‘ _heda’,_ nor could he understand what he did that made her look at him in awe like he’d hung the stars or created the moon. She cupped his face in her frail hands, “Beja homplei disha. Mochof gon coming bakon gon em. Gon Klark.”

Confused, he recalled the simplest of the grounder language. He nodded, taking the simple tunic and saying, “Mochof.”

Behind him, Emori was laughing. So was Murphy, who couldn’t help but do anything other than bother the hell out of his friend. Bellamy resisted the urge to tease Murphy about the ankle which he’d foolishly sprained on the journey to Camp Eden. Abby gladly nursed when they arrived.

At Bellamy’s confusion, Emori went on to translate, “Bellamy – _lover_ of my Last Commander. Please take this. Thank you for coming back to her. To Clarke.”

There was a clear grin on Murphy’s face that indicated Emori had translated during the encounter with the woman.

“Seems about right,” Murphy teased, “and about time too.”

He ignored Murphy, taking the tunic in his hands and pushing his way out of the circle of people that had surrounded them. Kane, Abby and his other friends were nowhere to be found.

When he finally spotted Madi, she was pulling a dark-haired girl – more like young woman, towards him. Her hair was shorter now, cut to her shoulders. They stopped and Madi grinned, waving to Bellamy before running into the crowd again.

Octavia looked older, a girl who’d grown into a woman’s features. But there was a sort of vulnerability with her that she showed no one else but him. He could see even just by the fire the lit up her silhouette that her hand was shaking. Sky Queen or not, she was _always_ his little sister.

_"Bell?”_

She bolted towards him and buried her head into the crook of his shoulders. Even if she had grown, she still fit in his arms. He stroked her hair, embracing her tightly. The embrace told him that she’d missed him just as much as he’d missed her.

When she pulled back, even if a part of her hardly wanted to let him go again, a curve formed on her lips. “I said I’d be waiting under the floor, but – ”

“You’re not that little girl anymore. She found her way out.” he grinned, “And I’m proud of you, O. For what you’ve done for these people, Skaireina.”

“That _silly_ title.”

“You deserve it.” He smiled.

He could’ve sworn tears rimmed her eyes but blinked them back.

“I met with the others. And I can’t lie, I’m disappointed Echo is still alive.”

Bellamy chuckled deeply, and she smirked, “I warned her that none of us would kill her until she made the first move and to be wary since we’ve formed a peaceful livelihood and if she did _anything_ to threaten it – ”

Octavia couldn’t help but portray some form of the power she held over Echo. It turned out Indra hardly enjoyed the celebrating since the sight of the Azgeda spy triggered her inner warning bells.

“ – She’s been thoroughly warned, by Madi,” Bellamy promised.

Octavia nodded in approval, before noticing that her older brother seemed restless. She knew him even if he’d changed. She observed the beard, that she had to admit made him looker older and ridiculously handsome. She noticed his bulkier figure. She noticed his eyes restless eyes roaming, in search for something, or rather, _someone._

“Looking for her?”

There was no point in denying. He could pinpoint that she already knew just by the sheer amusement in her voice.

“They told me you were with her. Where is she?”

“Didn’t expect anything else of you, really.” Octavia pointed away from the crowd, to the plethora of trees. “She’s by the pond. Just follow the trail. You’ll reach the meadow. That’s where you’ll find her.” 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The meadow was something from a fairytale picture book. It was a dome-shaped paradise, lined with pine trees. It was hidden beyond the forest and lit with fluorescent flora and the stars above it. Violets and hyacinths glittered the ground and the trees. Wisteria’s hung from tree branches. Moonflowers bloomed from vines encircling the tree trunks. Bellamy could hear the wind, creating something akin to music. The atmosphere was almost paralyzing, and a part of him never wanted to leave.

The pond sat at the center of the meadow, colored black, mirroring the star-scattered sky directly above it and shaped like a flat disk of metal. It was so still. So calm. Like the person seated right beside it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Bellamy always wondered what he would say to Clarke. He’d replay conversations in his head, things he’d said, things he’d withheld from telling her. From the many things he’d wanted to say, one was recurrent: _I needed you, I need you, I will always need you._

But now that she was finally there within arm’s reach, he found himself cowering in fear. He could never fathom why he was so afraid around Clarke Griffin, why being beside her held him at his most vulnerable. Why of all people was it Clarke, this _princess_ he’d first loathed, who had her fingers sunk firmly into his heart and could do with it whatever so she desired.

He’d thought it over for seven years, battled with himself relentlessly to let her go. But Raven was right. He was _a good little knight, by his queen’s side._ And until now, she held him in that same captivity. Because until now, even after she’d existed solely in the depths of his heart for seven years, she held him in that same agony – the agony that came with the inability to _un-love_ Clarke Griffin.

When he neared her, he found himself frozen at the sound of her voice. And the sound of his name.

“And as usual,” she whispered, “I wish you could be here. You should be here. You of all people deserve to see this, Bellamy.”

Bellamy could hear her crying.

“I imagine everyone’s faces when seeing this place. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t understand how we didn’t come across it when we first landed. Beside here is where the dropship should’ve landed. I picture Monty and Jasper running around the pond. Or being so fascinated by the plants. I picture Finn and Raven seated by those trees. I imagine Harper and Octavia being surrounded by butterflies. I see Murphy swimming in this huge pond, and claiming it all for himself. I see Wells arguing with him and taking the other side of the pond.

I picture everyone, Bellamy. This is where you should be, sitting right here beside me as we watch them. This is what we should’ve gotten when we landed here. You should be here.”

His breathing hitched before he found himself finally saying, “I am here, Clarke.”

 

 


	3. 03 | YOU'RE HOME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,
> 
> sorry for the late update. i got busy over the holidays. anyway, i hope you all had fun and i hope you have fun with this chapter. it's my favourite so far. 
> 
> xx

**03**

**YOU’RE HOME**

**CLARKE WOKE** to find Madi seated beside her bed. Although somehow, she wished she hadn’t woken up. The nightmares had slowly subsided but they still came and go at certain points. The nightmares often haunted her sleep that she rarely dreamed. Back then Madi would wake in the middle of the night to Clarke’s paralyzing screams. She’d had to violently shake Clarke awake to stop her from waking the entire camp.

But this dream was nothing but good. Clarke had dreamt he was back, that Bellamy finally came back to her. Good dreams hardly came. But when they did, they were too good to be true that it ached to wake up.

Madi dropped the book she was reading and assisted Clarke up to lean against the wall. “Are you okay?”

Clarke nodded, “Yeah just – did I pass out? I don’t remember what happened.”

“No you didn’t,” Madi quipped, “Bellamy carried you – ”

“What?”

Madi raised her eyebrow repeating her words slowly, “ _Bellamy_ carried you back from the meadow. You both stayed at the meadow till dawn and he said he didn’t want to take you so – ”

“Madi don’t _fool_ with me right now.”

The young girl frowned, “Clarke…are you sure you’re okay? Should I call gran – ”

“Bellamy’s _not_ here! That was a dream, Madi. I only dreamt it. He’s not back. Why would you want to torture me – ”

Madi held Clarke still, reaching for her arms, calming her. “Clarke, Clarke, _breathe._ ” By the time Clarke steadied, Madi smiled gently, soothing her hands, “It’s not a dream, Clarke. He’s back.”

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It took several painful moments for Clarke to believe she wasn’t dreaming. They said you could never feel pain in dreams. But the constricting ache in her chest indicated that this wasn’t a dream.

Now looking at him, several feet from where she stood, Clarke wasn’t sure if he were a figment of her imagination either. She could barely tell the difference when she’d conjured hallucinations of him. She’d talk to him, as if he were really there: _you reckon this will taste nice?_

_What do you think of this? Do you think they’ll like the valley?_

_I know. My skin is drying up from this heat but yours is too._

He’d smile at her. He’d talk to her. He’d appear out of nowhere, answer her questions. He’d be by her side.

Maybe she had gone crazy. But at least he was there. At least he talked, at least she could see him. The radio calls to him hardly sufficed. Because he never said anything back.

Maybe this was still a hallucination.

Except in those hallucinations, only _she_ could see him. This time, he was talking to Kane. Other’s greeted him good morning. Octavia was laughing along with him. Bellamy existed not only in her world anymore.

Which could only mean one thing. _He was real._

She found herself running, even with her legs feeble. But she ran as fast as she could, and akin to how she did when she first found him after being caught by the Mountain Men with the thought of him dead, she flung herself into his arms. 

The impact took him several moments to reciprocate, wrapping his arms around her waist the way her arms were wrapped around his neck. She could hear the pounding thrum of her own heart, from the sprint or from being in such close proximity to him, she couldn’t care less.

_If this is a dream, then so be it._

_No, Clarke, positive thoughts. He’s alive. He’s breathing. You’re in his arms. It’s real. He’s here._

“There’s something I’d never thought I’d see… _again,_ ” Octavia’s snicker pulled Clarke back to clear consciousness. Keeping her arms around his neck, she pulled away, stepping a hesitant step away from Bellamy.

“ _Skaireina…_ we should probably head to troop training,” Marcus Kane suggested, and with a teasing smirk to Bellamy, Octavia nodded to Kane. Clarke barely noticed her stepfather and Octavia leaving. She’d been staring at Bellamy the entire time, refusing to take her eyes off him lest he disappear.

“Clarke – ” he said.

_Same comforting voice. Same eyes._

Clarke loved his eyes. His eyes were a deep chestnut. At night time, they were black orbs, always with a mischievous glint. Under sunlight, they were a dark hazel. His eyes always glowed with playfulness; they reflected the arrogant him when they first met. But over time, she would look into those eyes and find herself intrigued by the sheer depth of passion and emotion they held. She would look into those eyes and find warmth, understanding and forgiveness.

At one point, she looked into his eyes and found a reflection of her soul. She could never have survived the ground without him. And it lessened the burden of all things she had done, to look into his eyes and find him already staring back, promising the one thing she needed: _I will be here through it all._

“ – are you alright?”

“You’re _really_ here,” was all she could say.

He smiled.

_Same smile._

“Good morning to you too, princess.”

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

Raven spotted Clarke’s blonde hair several metres from where they had gathered for lunch. It wasn’t long before she was speeding to her friend despite the strain on her leg. She hurled herself towards Clarke, arms circling around her neck.

 “ _Clarke,_ you’re alive. You’re really alive.”

Raven Ramirez rarely cried. But there was no stopping the tears that came from the depths of guilt (that she felt for leaving her friend behind), sheer hopelessness (that she felt because they had thought Clarke dead) and utter gratefulness (because Clarke saved them and Clarke had lived). The emotions came in painful pangs to the chest, that she no longer cared if they thought her weak for crying in the arms of one of her best friends.

“Let her breathe, Raven,” Bellamy’s chuckle drew her back, and she hesitantly stepped back. It was then she got a proper look at her saviour.

 _It’s true. She really was sick._ She found herself wanting to cry again. Clarke looked _so_ weak that it physically hurt Raven to see her like that, _yet again,_ suffering. She blinked away the tears, forcing a smile on her lips. Because she knew Clarke wouldn’t want her pity. 

“Raven,” Clarke smiled, squeezing her friend’s hand as tight as she could, though Raven barely felt anything, “I’m so glad you guys are back.”

“Thanks to you, Clarke. Thank you for saving our lives.”  

“ _Well, well, well,”_ John Murphy’s drawled, circling the two friends. Clarke managed a weak smile to challenge his amused smirk, “like I previously said – I thought _I_ was the cockroach. 

“I’m sorry I have a habit of staying alive.”

“And keep doing so.” It was the most _un-Murphy_ thing to do, but he pulled Clarke in for an embrace. Mostly it was because he couldn’t handle her looking so weak. But, of course, he’d never admit that.

It was Harper who pulled Clarke away from Murphy, and quite literally refused to let her go until Monty was practically begging to allow him even just five seconds. But it was when she was in Monty’s embrace that Clarke found herself bawling. Because she’d never thought the day would come that she could hand Jasper’s final letter to his best friend.

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

They’d spent the entire afternoon talking around the campfire. Octavia joined them soon after she was graciously relieved of her duties as skaireina. Soon after Echo excused herself. Octavia ignored her, but Clarke followed.

“ _Lasheda,”_ Echo halted rigidly, spitting the word out as if it were bitter metal against her tongue. 

“Echo,” Clarke whispered.

Echo spun and finally came face to face with the girl who yet again saved them. Only she wasn’t a girl anymore, but a woman – _a woman of steel,_ though she’d never admit that. She couldn’t know what she felt of Clarke, but if there was one thing it was _respect._ Otherwise, she remained nonchalant and distant.

“ _Yes_ , Clarke?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this _but_ I’m glad you’re alive.”

Echo’s lips curled up in bitter amusement, “You don’t mean that.”

“I mean it. I can see you care about them.”

“Not as much as you do to die for them.”

A smiled ghosted Clarke’s lips, “Is that a thank you?”

“The only one you’ll get.” Echo nodded – a form of her respect – before she stalked away.

When Clarke returned to the group, she resat herself next to Bellamy. Seated opposite her were Monty and Harper, the latter of which was relaying stories of Monty’s terrible tasting algae and how they’d almost died after first consuming it. Serious as it was, they were now laughing about it.

It soon became a story telling session:

“I’m glad the walls were sound proof!” Monty shrieked, “Otherwise I’d have to suffer your and Emori’s all night long _fuck_ sessions!”

Murphy winked when Clarke and Octavia shot him curious looks. He slung his arm around Emori who seemed unfazed by the present conversation, “At least I lasted all night, _Green._ I don’t hear Harper complimenting your skills in the bed.”

“My skills are – ” Monty paused midway, of which earned teasing laughs from all his friends.

“ – _amazing_ , baby.” Harper pressed a kiss to his reddened cheeks.

“At least we had fun up there,” Murphy drawled, “except Raven, Bellamy and Echo. They pretty much locked themselves in their own rooms. I did suggest a _three_ – ”

“ _Don’t_ fucking continue that sentence, Murphy.” Bellamy warned and with that John playfully sealed his lips shut.

Clarke shot Bellamy a dubious look. “ _So_ about the – " 

“ – _nothing_ happened,” he swore.

She raised her eyebrow in challenge, “ _Really?_ I do recall you being notorious for your playful nights back at the delinquent’s camp.”

“I’m a changed man.” He shrugged innocently. Clarke could only nod in amusement. 

Their story telling continued. Octavia relayed stories of the bunker: what it was like, significant events, almost dying from starvation. Clarke chose to remain silent; the tight clenching of her chest made it hard for her to breathe. Bellamy noticed and slid himself closer to her, letting her lean against him. He kept quiet too, watching Clarke as she watched their friends in awe, listening to their tales so intently as if she were committing them to memory.

Her gaze fell to every one of her friends: _Raven, Harper, Monty, Murphy, Emori, Octavia and Bellamy._ And despite the constricting ache in her chest, she couldn’t describe the feeling that settled into her. She hadn’t felt that way in a long, _long_ time. Familiarity, friendship… _peace._

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

Clarke had always found watching Madi sleep as therapeutic and calming. Most times, once she was assured that Madi was at rest, she could rest too. But she was restless that night. Maybe because sky crew’s return was still surreal – that she’d be afraid to open her eyes the next morning only to realise it was all a dream.

But Clarke was certain her imagination wasn’t as creative as her present reality. She would’ve never have been able to create their tales of their days on the Ring. There was no way she could imagine those. She repeated it to herself, a calming mantra: _they’ve all come back to you._

_He came back for you._

It took several repetitions but she soon after allowed herself to revel in the memory of Bellamy’s return to her the night before.

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

**_THE NIGHT BEFORE_ **

The meadow at night was even more beautiful: a piece taken straight from a fantasy book.

“I am here, Clarke.”

The voice was so close, so familiar, so real. She turned slowly and as she laid eyes on him – the Bellamy she’d conjured – she praised herself for remembering every detail of Bellamy Blake. To the unruly curl of his mahogany hair, to his passionately unrelenting eyes, to the deep undertone of his voice. She remembered everything.

Except her hallucinations were fooling her. She’d conjured an older version of him: his hair had grown, he had a beard, he was more muscular now. Could hallucinations change? Was she truly losing her mind?

“Are you…are you really here?” She whispered, her eyes now glistened with tears. 

“I am.”

“Why’d it take you so long? I _needed_ you.” She cried, all the emotions crashing down on her, a heavy weight on her already physically hurting chest that it was too much. Her knees buckled, but before she could fall, Bellamy had caught her.

His grip was strong but he held her gently to himself, her face a hairsbreadth away from his. He kneeled, wrapping his arm around her back to hold her up.

In spite of the beauty surrounding him, in his eyes, Clarke was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Looking at her tear stained eyes held him at her mercy, that he found himself swearing all he’d sworn to do for her all over again:

_I will protect you. Always. I will be one step behind you, watching your back. Always. I will love you till the day I die._

She feebly raised her hands to his cheek, “Are you really here? Please tell me you’re real. I can’t take being alone anymore. You’re here, right?”

He laid his hand over hers, “I’m _here_. I’m right here.”

A smile ghosted her lips, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“You’re home,” she murmured, “You came back to me.”  

His hands instinctively laced protectively around her waist, telling her this: _I will always come back to you. But then again, I promise you this. From now on._

It came out a whisper, a quiet, simple yet unyielding oath:

“I will _never_ leave you again.”

 


	4. 04 | WAYWARD HEART

**04**

**WAYWARD HEART**

**_ON THE RING (circa one year after praimfaiya)_ **

****

John Murphy woke to the sounds of shattering glass. Worry surged through his veins, and immediately he shifted out from under the covers, careful not wake Emori. He tugged on a shirt and ran out of their bedroom.

He followed the sound of yowling; the high distress of the owner’s voice sent shivers down his spine. When he got to the main centre of the ring, he found his best friend hunched against a wall. Droplets of blood surrounded him, his hair had fallen into his face, shards of glass have scraped his skin. He was drunk. His sleepless nights manifested in the dark shadows under his eyes. His eyes wide open, as he stared lifelessly into the distance.

 _Bellamy Blake_ : crestfallen and utterly _defeated._

John rushed to him, snatching the bottle of liquor and shoving it away. _How many bottles had he drunk?_ John sighed, pulling Bellamy to properly lean against the wall.

He noticed Bellamy’s bleeding hand. He cursed and called for Harper. He hated to wake her, but better her than him. She nursed Bellamy’s wounds, tending especially to the hand he’d used to punch the wall.

They hauled Bellamy back to his room soon after, with John literally throwing him onto the bed.

“I’ll go clean up,” Harper insisted.

“It’s alright. I’ll do it,” John said, “You should go back to bed. Monty needs you more than this asshole does.”

She smiled, “Call me if you need anything then.”

Once John made sure Bellamy was asleep, _actually asleep,_ he spent the rest of the night scrubbing blood of the walls, sweeping the broken shards of glass and mopping the droplets of blood and liquor off the floor.

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

Bellamy woke the morning after with a throbbing head on the verge of exploding. _Not literally,_ but it came close. He felt like absolute _shit._ He pushed himself up, trying to remember what the hell happened and failing miserably.

“Well _good morning_ to you.”

Murphy was seated by the window. Bellamy frowned in his direction. 

Murphy’s lips twitched up in a bitterly, “Brilliant performance you put on last night, by the way.”

Bellamy clenched his fists, repressing the raging need to punch the smirk from Murphy’s face. Why was Murphy there anyway? They hadn’t talked in months. The git had done everything as to avoid him; had even refused to drink with him, had refused to spiral down with him. So much for the one person he could have _fun_ with. What had gotten into the John Murphy that cared about nothing?

“Get out,” Bellamy spat, “leave me alone.”

“To die?” John scoffed, “Is that really how you plan to repay Clarke? By isolating yourself, refusing to talk to anyone, locking yourself up in your room and wallowing in guilt?”

Bellamy clenched his fists hard.

“ _Don’t_ start _.”_

Murphy stood, standing at the foot of Bellamy’s bed, “You know what. I get it. I let you be miserable for the past twelve months, but I’m sick of it.”

He felt like an absolute asshole for rubbing salt in the wound, for kicking a man when he was quite literally down, for having no other way to get his _best friend_ to snap out of his misery.

“What happened to ‘ _we need to survive because if we don’t, she would’ve died in vain’?_ What about that, huh?”

Bellamy scoffed, looking up to him, a smirk on his lips, “Since when were you so _righteous_?" 

“Since I needed to do the job that Clarke entrusted _you_ to do!”

John’s enraged voice seemed to fully wake Bellamy. A flicker of guilt crossed his features. Murphy knew the mention of Clarke would get to him. Because truth be told, he had stepped up to do Bellamy’s job. He was their leader after all, but there was no denying that the crew needed the old Bellamy back – the one that wasn’t a shell of himself.

He felt like _shit_ rubbing this in but Bellamy needed to hear it. Bellamy needed to know that he was angry that he’d chosen to give up hope. John was indignant because he needed his leader back.

“Since I had to step up and keep this group together because _you_ couldn’t. This was _your_ job Bellamy, not mine.”

And just like that, the flicker of _emotion_ disappeared and Bellamy was back to his shuttered indifference.

“Well now you know it’s harder than it looks.”

“You know what? _Fuck you._ For not even trying. We all have our nightmares. We all have to live with guilt. You see Raven. That limp. That forever damaged leg. She is living _proof_ of the guilt I live with every day! How I wish I didn’t shoot her, how I wish I could take her pain away. I wish that every single moment I see her. But what can I do, Bellamy? It’s _done._

I have to live knowing I did that to Raven. But I can’t change the past, and neither can you. So, you _live_ with it.

We all wish we didn’t have to leave Clarke behind. She saved us, so we could live. We wouldn’t have made it this far without _her_ and without you. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to make sure you snap out of your guilt and find a will to live. That’s the only way _I_ can honour Clarke. By keeping you alive.”

 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

**_ON THE RING (circa three years after Praimfaiya)_ **

 

_“Bellamy,” tears ran down Clarke’s fire burnt cheeks, “why…why did you leave me?”_

_Her skin was dead, her clothes on fire. Lesions spread across her arms. Her facial features creased in pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. That was all that flashed across her face. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground._

_Bellamy, horrified, wanted to catch her before she fell. But his feet remained planted on the ground, rendering him immobile._

_Her head hit the ground, hard. And no matter his efforts, his couldn’t move his feet. He was forced to watch her bleed to death. He cried out her name, but no sound came out._

_The room echoed with her voice, “How could you leave me, Bellamy?”_

_And then she stopped breathing._

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“Clarke!”

Bellamy shot up. Sweat trailed down his forehead and ran down his back. He was panting, his breathing erratic. Heat surrounded him, but his body ran cold from dread.

_Another nightmare._

“You okay?”

He turned his head to the window. Raven was seated against the lone chair, her knees to her chest, watching him with pity etched into her chestnut eyes.

Still reeling from the nightmare, he closed his eyes and regained his composure. He steadied his breathing, and pushed himself up against the headboard.

“Please tell me Murphy didn’t put you up to this.”

Raven pouted, straightening her position, “Actually, Monty did. He said your nightmares have been more frequent as of late. So, he asked me to watch over you tonight.”

“You’re all still afraid I’d try to kill myself again,” Bellamy murmured.

“We’re always afraid of that.”

“I won’t do that again,” he promised, gaining the confidence to look at her. After all, they’d all seen him at his weakest. No use in trying to hide anything from them. “I won’t put you guys through that again. Besides, Murphy beat you to castigating the crap out me two years ago.”

The corner of her lips twitched up in faint amusement, before she tugged her knees up once more and looked out the window. There wasn’t much to see, other than the galaxy. The moon lit up her features, to her tired eyes to the sad smile on her face.

Another pang of guilt hit him hard. He’d been too occupied with his own misery that he’d forgotten that his friends were also miserable. Even the ever-hopeful Raven Reyes had been dulled and reduced to a ghostly-like presence. She barely talked. She kept to herself. He’d listened on the other side of a shut door to her crying herself to sleep. And yet he did nothing. Because how could you help someone when you were broken yourself?

At least that’s what he thought in that first year on the ring. But Murphy’s outburst that night managed to wake even the slightest silver of hope. He had asked the crew for forgiveness and managed to pull himself together: for them and for Clarke.

Of course, the nightmares still haunted him, as well as the hallucinations of Clarke’s dead body. Sometimes, they terrified him to the point he’d stop breathing and suffer a panic attack.

And on that night, even when his sleep was, yet again, plagued with recurring nightmares, he’d still find a will to live. Because he owed that to Raven, who’d gone nights without sleep, Murphy, who’d done well leading them in his stead, Monty, who’d suffered frequent panic attacks, to Emori and Echo whom persevered adjusting to life in space.

He owed Octavia, who was leading hundreds under the ground. And most especially, he owed Clarke – he owed her his entire life.

“You can go to bed, Raven,” he urged, “It was just a nightmare. I promise I’ll be fine.”

“I have them too,” her voice was low he barely heard, “except I don’t scream _._ Sometimes I wish I could –  let it all out and cry but I can’t. I just sit there numbly. It doesn’t happen all the time but when it does, I dream of Finn, and Sinclair, and Clarke. But I mostly just get haunted by the things I did when I took the chip. The things I said to Jasper to drive him to–”

“Raven, that wasn’t your fault.”

“Do you remember what I said to you?” She turned her gaze to him now, “That you were _a good little knight by his queen’s side.”_

“You said a lot of things. But that wasn’t you.”

She shrugged, “Maybe. Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“When did you fall in love with Clarke?”

She eyed him carefully. A part of her wanted to see if he would deny. But when he kept silent, what she already knew was all the more confirmed.

 _If you want forgiveness,_ she had told him then, _fine, I’ll give it to you. You’re forgiven, okay?_

One of the many memories he had of Clarke stopping him from downward spiralling. Maybe the stars had enough mercy on him to grant him the one person he had needed. The one person who would be his saving grace. The light to his dark. The forgiveness to his sins. The leading _head_ to his wayward _heart._

That person came in the form of Clarke. He didn’t know exactly when he’d fallen in love with her. All he knew was that, like the fumbling moth that he was, there was no stopping loving the light. So, he answered: “When all I wanted was forgiveness and only Clarke could give it.”

“And there we go,” Raven managed a half-real smile, “I know you blame yourself for _many_ things. And I know you hate yourself for leaving Clarke. But if there’s one thing you did right, it was loving her. 

Raven stood, headed over to the bed and tentatively laid a hand on his shoulder, “You loved her without fail, that even if you’d never admitted it, people around you knew. Even artificial intelligence knew.”

He cried, “Too bad she didn’t.”

“She knew, Bellamy. She knew.”

****

 


End file.
